


An Empty Victory (Alternately: "The Finale Never Happened")

by Anonymous



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Castiel Deserves Better (Supernatural), Castiel is Saved from the Empty (Supernatural), Dean Winchester is Bad at Feelings, Eileen Leahy Deserves Better, Eileen Leahy Lives, Fix-It, I'll add more characters as they come up in the story but I'm not sure who'll be in it yet, Multi, Supportive Sibling Sam Winchester, and because Cas deserves better, not entirely at least, the finale never happened, we don't talk about the finale
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:28:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27882245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “Dean…” Sam trailed off.“He told me he loved me, said goodbye, and shoved me out of harm’s way. Billie broke through the door just in time for the Empty to take her when it took Cas. And then…”“Then he was gone.”“Yeah. He was gone.”“And you never got a chance to tell him that—oh.” Sam’s eyes widened.Dean gritted his teeth. “There it is.”--After the Winchesters and Jack defeat Chuck, Eileen moves into the bunker to be with Sam. Without Cas, however, Dean can't celebrate their victory. He's determined to get Cas back from the Empty, no matter what it takes. Despite his concerns about the danger, Sam agrees to help. Eileen is, as usual, a treasure.( Anonymous because I haven't written a Supernatural fic in many, many eons and I'm weirdly nervous/self-conscious about it. I may remove the Anonymous category after a while.)
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Comments: 62
Kudos: 171
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

As usual, Dean found the answer to all his questions in a leather-bound book hidden deep in the Men of Letters’ bunker. Simple and unmarked as it was, Dean knew it was different. When he touched it, his skin tingled and went cold, and a voice inside his head whispered that this was it. This was the book he needed.

“Dean?” Sam’s voice said from the doorway, sudden and loud enough to startle Dean. “Hey, sorry, I just came to ask if you want breakfast. It’s almost ready.”

Dean checked his watch—or, rather, he tried to check his watch, but it wasn’t there. It was still on Dean’s bedside table, right where he’d left it when he got up to wander the bunker in the early hours.

“It’s seven forty-five,” Sam said helpfully. “You hungry?”

“Not really.”

Sam crossed his arms. “Try again. You haven’t been eating and it’s obvious you haven’t been sleeping. You can’t keep going like this, Dean. Sooner or later, your body is just going to call it quits.”

Dean laughed, a bitter and humorless rasping. “Where’s the downside?”

As soon as he said it, Dean knew he had crossed a line. Before the words even had time to echo, Sam’s face fell and, though he tried to hide it, he crumbled. He took a sharp breath in and held it in an effort to keep his expression calm and neutral. But Dean knew Sam. Sam didn’t have to say a word for Dean to understand that he was hurt, angry, and scared. It was Dean’s fault, too. Sam would never say it, but that didn’t make it any less true. That was the Winchester way, after all: bottling everything up until it boiled over, scalding everyone who happened to be nearby when it happened.

Winchesters didn’t apologize, either, but Dean had to try. “Sammy, I’m sorry.”

“What is that?” Sam asked, gesturing toward the book in Dean’s hands. Dean heard the message loud and clear: _Not now._

“I’m not sure,” Dean admitted. “There’s something in here. I can feel it.”

Pity flickered across Sam’s face, though he made a valiant attempt not to show it. “Dean, I know you want to find Cas, but we’ve been down this road before. I mean, what was it last week and the week before that? You’ve scoured every book in this place, called everyone who’ll pick up, and we still don’t have a way to bring him back. Maybe it’s time to—”

“Give up?” Dean dropped the book and closed his eyes, pressing the heels of his hands against them. “Are you seriously, _seriously_ going to tell me to give up?”

“No, not give up. But this is the Empty we’re talking about. Nothing comes back from there, right?”

“Cas did. Jack did.”

“Right, but Cas only came back because Jack woke him up, which was a one in a million chance, and Jack only came back because Cas offered _himself_ as a replacement. I’m not saying we’ll never get him back, Dean. I’m just saying it won’t be easy. Maybe you should slow down.”

Rage surged through Dean. He wanted to scream at Sam, to tell him exactly where he could stick his opinions, but he couldn’t. His voice was a low growl as he said, “When is it _ever_ easy, Sam? When are our lives _ever_ easy? We’ve been through Hell—literally—and we’ve fought God, and you know who was there with us the whole damn time? Cas! Cas was there. He helped us, he fought for us, and you’re just going to let him rot in the Empty. Is that it?”

Sam sighed, squaring his shoulders like he was gearing up to fight. “No, that’s not what—”

“Or maybe you’ve just stopped caring. You got Eileen back—and don’t think I’m not thrilled, because I _am_ thrilled—so it doesn’t matter anymore?”

“You know that’s not it,” Sam said. His voice cracked. “But I can’t sit back and let you destroy yourself trying to find Cas, okay? I can’t.”

Tears of anger and grief welled up in Dean’s eyes. “What would you have done, Sammy? If we couldn’t get Eileen back again, what would you have done?”

“I… I don’t know.” Sam shoved his hands into his pockets. “She wasn’t in the Empty. It’s different.”

“No, it really isn’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“When you thought she was dead, and I mean really, _really_ dead, what was the worst part?”

Sam hesitated. “I was going to ask her to marry me,” he murmured, almost to himself. “The thought that I’d never get to tell her that… It killed me.”

Dean felt the anger melt out of his body, leaving him dizzy and exhausted. “You want to know how Cas died? How he _really_ died?”

Slowly, carefully, Sam nodded.

“He didn’t just make a deal with the Empty. He made a deal that the Empty could take him the moment he experienced happiness. True happiness.” Dean swallowed against a wave of tears. “He said he… he couldn’t imagine what his true happiness was because… because the one thing he wanted, he couldn’t have. No. The one thing he wanted, he _knew_ he couldn’t have.

“I… I froze. I froze and he just kept going, kept talking. He told me I was wrong. The way I see myself, he said, is wrong. I’m not just destructive and violent, fueled by hatred and anger. I’m… I’m loving. I’m selfless. Caring. He said I changed him. I made him care about everything—you, me, Jack, the whole damn world—and then he…”

“Dean…” Sam trailed off.

“He told me he loved me, said goodbye, and shoved me out of harm’s way. Billie broke through the door just in time for the Empty to take her when it took Cas. And then…”

“Then he was gone.”

“Yeah. He was gone.”

“And you never got a chance to tell him that—oh.” Sam’s eyes widened.

Dean gritted his teeth. “There it is.”

“Wow. Dean, I didn’t know. I had no idea you were—”

“Don’t,” Dean snapped. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay.” Sam held up his hands in surrender. “That’s fine. If you don’t want to talk about it, I won’t push, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that talking helps. Seriously. If you want, I—”

“I don’t. Not now.” Dean choked back tears, shoulders shaking with the effort. He remembered how broken Sam had looked when they found Eileen’s phone lying on the street. He remembered and he understood.

“Right,” Sam said, kneeling to pick up the book. “You’re sure this is it?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. But it’s all I’ve got left.”

“Okay. That’s fine. We’ll… Why don’t you come have breakfast and we can take a look at it after?”

Dean didn’t want breakfast, but he didn’t want to argue, either. “Sure.” He held out his hand for the book, which Sam gripped a little tighter.

“Go take a shower, get dressed, and meet us in the kitchen, all right? Eileen’s worried about you, too.” With that, Sam turned and left the room, taking the book with him.

Dean walked back to his bedroom in a daze. Every step felt like it took days, showering took years, and getting dressed took more energy than Dean had left. He got tangled in his shirt, tripped over his pants, and spent what felt like half an hour looking for his left sock, which he found in his pocket. By the time he got to the kitchen, Sam and Eileen had finished making breakfast.

“Hey!” Eileen’s voice, bright and cheerful, was music to Dean’s ears. She held out a cup of coffee. “Sit. Have some coffee. Eat something.”

Dean wasn’t one to argue with that kind of logic, so he accepted the coffee, sat at the kitchen counter, and ate some of the food Eileen and Sam put in front of him. It had vegetables in it and tasted like sawdust, but Dean kept that part to himself. Everything tasted like sawdust these days.

A thump on the counter caught Dean’s attention. It was the book, which Sam slid toward Dean with a tight, disapproving nod. “Here. You can have this back.”

Dean reached for the book, running his fingers over the cover. As soon as the leather touched his skin, he felt a shock of cold run through him. It was that same strange, tingling cold he’d felt before, only stronger now that he was paying attention to it. The answer was in here; all Dean had to do was find it.

Closing his eyes, Dean prayed. _I don’t know if you can hear me, Cas, but I need you to know I’m not giving up. I’ll bring you back. Whatever it takes, I’ll bring you home. I promise._

There was no answer, but that was all right. Dean didn’t expect an answer, not now. Not yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! I've been hesitant to post a Supernatural fic after so long and am open to any constructive suggestions.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: John Winchester's terrible parenting (mentioned), Dean's internalized homophobia/biphobia, a few instances of mild language.

After a few hours of research, Dean stalked off to his room for a “break.” He said it bitterly, like a curse. Much as Sam wanted to chase him down and make him talk, he knew better. Dean would talk when he was ready. _If_ he was ready. There was nothing Sam or anyone could do to speed things up.

 _“Is he going to be okay?”_ Eileen asked. When they were alone, it was easier to sign. Fortunately, Eileen was a patient teacher.

 _“I don’t know,”_ Sam admitted, sighing heavily. He felt so useless just sitting here, scouring the bunker’s resources, and still failing to find a way to rescue Cas. He couldn’t help but wonder what it was like in the Empty. Was it just like falling asleep or was it something worse? Wherever he slept, did Castiel feel any pain? When Sam pictured the Empty, he pictured an expanse of suffocating dark and cold. He hated the thought of Cas lying there alone, lost, without enough awareness to even be afraid. He hated the thought of sending his brother in there, too. What if Dean never found his way out? What if he woke the Empty and it found him before he found Cas? It would take him, lock him up, and throw away the key. Then it would seal up all the doorways into its domain, making it impossible for Sam or anyone else to break in ever again. Dean knew the risk. He _understood_ the risk. But if there was the tiniest chance of bringing Cas home, then Dean would take the risk in a heartbeat. In his place, with Eileen’s life on the line, Sam knew he would do the same.

Eileen’s hand squeezing his brought Sam back from his spiraling thoughts. _“He has you looking out for him. And me. We’ll get him through this.”_

A lump formed in Sam’s throat, but he forced it down. _“Thank you.”_

Eileen reached out, resting her palm against Sam’s cheek. _“I love you.”_

_“I love you.”_

As Eileen returned to her research, Sam let his mind wander. He thought about what he had said to Dean before and about the ring hidden in a locked box in his closet. His mother had given him that ring just weeks before her second death, and although Sam knew it was crazy, he wondered if, somehow, she had known he would find someone he wanted to give it to. It was simple and perfect: a braided silver band set with a moonstone and two tiny sapphires, gemstones which Sam vaguely remembered having something to do with passion and loyalty. A promise. With all his heart, he wanted to give Eileen that ring and the promise it symbolized, but he wanted to wait until they could celebrate as a family. A _whole_ family.

Another hour went by, Dean didn’t come out of his room, and Sam was still no closer to finding a way into the Empty or a way to get Cas out. Sam got up, kissed Eileen’s cheek, and went to check on his brother.

Sam knocked; Dean did not answer.

“Dean?” Sam called. “You awake yet?”

Dean said nothing, so Sam knocked again, louder this time. Behind the door, he heard the sound of Dean getting out of bed and stomping toward the door. The lock clicked; Dean threw the door open, looking more exhausted and defeated than he had before.

“What do you want, Sammy?” he asked.

“Can I come in?”

“Guess so.” Dean held the door open and let Sam in.

“Thanks,” Sam said.

“What do you want?” Dean repeated.

Sam took a deep breath, held it for a few seconds, and then exhaled slowly. “We haven’t found anything yet. Eileen’s still looking, but I came to see if you were all right.”

“Do I look all right?”

“I’ll take that as a no.”

“No shit.” Dean shook his head, half incredulous and half annoyed. “Why are you really here?”

“I just told you. I’m here to see if—”

“You know what? Cut the crap. You and I both know you aren’t here to see if I’m all right, so why don’t you just skip the bullshit and ask me about Cas?”

Sam barely noticed the way his jaw tensed up until it started to ache. What was he supposed to say, that Dean was wrong and he _was_ just here to check up on him? Even if he tried, Dean would see right through it in an instant. But if Sam asked about Cas, he wasn’t sure his brother would answer. Winchesters didn’t talk about their feelings. Wasn’t that what Dad always said? Winchesters didn’t talk about their feelings and if John had to put up with disappointment from Sam, he wouldn’t put up with it from Dean as well. Old as those wounds were, they still bled from time to time. Sam couldn’t blame his brother for keeping secrets. For keeping _this_ secret.

In the end, Sam said nothing, waiting for Dean to speak first. After a long silence, he finally did.

“I wanted to tell you. Every damn day, I wanted to tell you, but I just… I didn’t know how. You got enough crap from Dad growing up and… and when he found out, he was so mad and I didn’t want to drag you into that. It’s not that I didn’t trust you or I didn’t think you’d have my back. Of course you’d have my back. But Dad was always looking for reasons to give you hell and I couldn’t live with myself if I was the next one.”

Cold settled in under Sam’s skin, a creeping, clawing dread that told him to run and hide. It was the same thing he had felt as a kid whenever his dad got angry and mean.

“When…” His throat tightened until he could barely get another word out. “When was that?”

“You were twelve, I think. You must’ve been, ‘cause I was sixteen. Hell, I don’t know how the bastard figured it out, but he did and he lost his fucking mind. I mean, it felt like he was screaming at me for hours, man.”

“Was I there?” It felt like a stupid question.

“No. You—and I thank my lucky stars for this every day—you were with Bobby that week. You said you didn’t want to come on the hunt and Dad couldn’t make you, so he dropped you off at Bobby’s and just took me along.”

Now Sam remembered. That week with Bobby had been a pleasant surprise, as Sam’s pleas to be left behind were usually met with ire, derision, and outright refusal. But that week, his dad had simply sighed, closed his eyes, and told Sam to wait with Bobby until the hunt was over. He wouldn’t be any use to anyone if he got himself killed, John had said, and there wasn’t any point in bringing him along if he was just going to get in the way. That week had been a breath of fresh air, which he had savored until his father and brother came back to pick him up and haul him to the next case in the next town. Sam remembered how broken, dejected, and angry Dean had looked. He had spent the next few weeks avoiding their father as much as possible, but never told Sam why.

 _Now I know_ , Sam thought. He opened his mouth to speak, but Dean held up one hand, stopping him in his tracks.

“I know, Sammy. I should’ve told you.”

“You just did.”

The corner of Dean’s mouth twitched into a sad half-smile. “Guess so.”

“It feels weird saying this, but I’m proud of you.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, all right. Shut up. I’m bi, not valedictorian.” Sam heard the way Dean’s voice caught on the word _bi_ , but pretended not to notice. 

A loud knock on the door made them both jump, but Eileen’s voice called out a moment later. “Dean? Sam? I think I found something.”

Dean got up from his bed, crossed the room in two steps, and threw open the door. On the other side, Eileen stood with her hand raised to knock again, a stack of notes and Dean’s book clutched against her chest. Before Sam or Dean could ask what she’d found, she was already explaining, hurriedly laying out the papers and book on Dean’s desk.

“It was right under our noses the whole time,” she said excitedly. “Look! An angel can steal a soul from Hell, a demon can corrupt a soul in Heaven, but I couldn’t find anything that said an angel or a demon could jailbreak someone or something from the Empty, and that’s when it hit me—They can’t. No one’s actually done it before because of how dangerous it is, but I think that’s because they were trying to do it alone.”

Dean caught Eileen’s attention and asked, “How?”

“When you go in, Sam and I stay here. We keep an eye on the doorway and make sure you have a way to come back. Did you wash your jacket? The one Cas bled on?”

Dean shook his head.

“Good. Sam and I will set up the spell in the library. You grab the jacket and meet us there in fifteen minutes.”

“Ten,” Dean said. “I’ll be there in ten.”

“Ten it is,” Eileen agreed, taking Sam’s hand as she started out the door. When they were out of Dean’s line of sight, she turned and signed, _“Is he going to be okay?”_

This time, Sam signed back, _“I think so.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think and what sort of stuff you'd like to see in future chapters (I can't promise I'll be able to fit everything in, but I'll do my best to fit at least some).


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: The Empty, psychological torture (courtesy of the Empty), mentions of physical torture (also courtesy of the Empty), nightmares, and mild language.

Every dream started the same way: Castiel stood in the cold, crushing dark of the Empty, watching as something moved through the shadows. Deep down, he knew what it meant. Whatever that thing in the shadows was, it was stalking him. He turned in circles, desperately casting his eyes about for a way out or a place to hide, but all he saw was… nothing. He saw nothing. Nothing but Empty. And that thing lurking in the shadows was closing in.

“I know you’re there!” Cas shouted, but the darkness swallowed his voice. “Show yourself!”

The thing in the shadows stayed hidden.

“I’m not scared of you!” It was a lie. Cas was terrified. The thing in the shadows couldn’t kill him, not when he was already dead, but it could make him suffer.

Every dream ended the same way, too: Cas opened his eyes to see Dean Winchester standing over him. He felt Dean’s hands on his shoulders, warm and strong, and he wanted to believe they were real. Every time, he wanted to believe. He sat up, blinking until Dean’s face came into focus. _Please_ , he thought. _Please let this be real._

Dean held out his hand. “Come on. Time to go.”

Though he knew it was a trap, Cas took Dean’s hand. He always took Dean’s hand. “How did you find me?”

“I’ll explain later. Right now, we need to get out of here.” Without waiting for an answer, Dean hauled Cas to his feet and started to run. Everything in the Empty looked the same, making it impossible to tell left from right, but somehow Dean knew the way. He led and Cas followed, heart pounding in his chest. They ran until they reached what Cas recognized as a rift between worlds. Dean must have opened it to get into the Empty.

“Dean,” Cas said, dropping Dean’s hand. “Something’s… Something’s wrong here.”

Dean turned back to look at Cas. “What do you mean?”

Cas wanted to explain. He tried to explain, but the words died before they ever left his mouth. Then, all at once, the truth dawned on him. Every inch of his skin crawled, an icy, prickling sensation that could only mean one thing: 

“You’re not Dean,” he growled.

Dean’s eyes narrowed, the corner of his mouth twitching in a confused smile. “What are you talking about? Cas, come on. Please, Cas, come home with me.”

Cas wanted to. More than anything in the world, he wanted to. But he knew this cold and what it meant.

“You’re not Dean,” he said again. “What are you?”

The thing wearing Dean’s face laughed, baring its teeth in a twisted, taunting grin. Malice burned behind its eyes. Cas backed away, one hand held out, as if that alone could keep the Empty at bay. It was pointless, of course, trying to escape from the Empty when it was everywhere. The ground beneath Castiel’s feet, the darkness surrounding him, the expanse of nothingness above—it was all the Empty.

But when it spoke, it spoke in Dean’s voice. “Did you really think I would save you? After what you did, what you _said_ , did you really think I would risk my neck for you?”

“You’re not Dean,” Cas said. It was all he could say, over and over again like some kind of prayer. All the while, the Empty kept talking, kept _tormenting_ Cas with that awful grin on its face.

“Don’t kid yourself, Cas. You knew I’d never love you back. That’s why you waited so long to tell me. I could _never_ love you back and you knew it, so you waited until you knew you’d never have to face me again. Because you knew I wouldn’t be able to look at you. I’d _hate_ you.”

“Stop,” Cas pleaded.

“Do you want to know what you are to me now?” Not-Dean asked. “You’re nothing.”

“Leave me alone!” Cas tried to shout, but his voice got lost in the darkness. He knew what would happen if he fled, as he had tried to do in other versions of this nightmare, and he knew what would happen if he stayed and fought. If he ran, the Empty would catch him, chain him, and use Dean’s hands to torture him. If he fought, the Empty would use Dean’s hands to strike him down. It hardly mattered in the end. Whatever happened, this nightmare would fade and the next would begin.

Defeated, Cas fell to his knees. “Just let me sleep. Please.”

With another wicked smile, the Empty reached out and pressed its palm to Cas’s cheek, sending him back into the darkness.

Every nightmare started the same: Castiel stood in the cold, crushing dark of the Empty, watching as something moved through the shadows. The end of every nightmare started the same way, too: Cas opened his eyes to see Dean Winchester standing over him.

But not this nightmare. This one started with a searing pain on Cas’s shoulder. He squeezed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth in an effort to stay still and quiet. He would not let the Empty win, not this time. In his mind, he chanted, _This isn’t real, this isn’t real, this isn’t real_ , and waited for the agony to stop.

Finally, it stopped. A voice in the silence said, “Cas?”

_No,_ Cas thought. _Go away. Please go away._

“Come on, Cas. Open your eyes. We don’t have a lot of time.” There was no mistaking Dean’s voice, soft and insistent, almost pleading. 

Cas choked back tears, trembling. He wouldn’t cry. He wouldn’t give the Empty the satisfaction of seeing him cry. Not again.

“Cas, please, look at me.”

Despite himself, Cas opened his eyes. Dean knelt beside him, one hand gripping his shoulder, the other holding a jacket stained with Cas’s blood. When he saw Cas’s eyes open, he let out a sigh of relief. Cas could hear that he was crying.

But it wasn’t Dean. No matter how much Cas wanted to believe, it was never Dean. Cas tried to close his eyes again, tried to go back to sleep, but Dean—no, the Empty—shook him gently.

“No, no, no, stay with me. Stay with me, Cas. We’re getting you out of here, okay? Come on.” Dean started to stand, pulling Cas with him, but Cas wouldn’t move.

“You’re not Dean.”

Dean— _the Empty_ , Cas reminded himself—froze. “What are you… Cas, what are you talking about? It’s me.”

“It’s not.” Cas tore himself away, scrambling back from the thing wearing Dean’s face. “Do you think I’m stupid?”

The hurt in Dean’s eyes almost looked genuine. “It’s me,” he said again, his voice softer now, broken. “I found you, Cas. Let me take you home, okay?”

Cas’s heart ached to believe this new trick. Just for a moment, he wanted to believe. He wanted to walk willingly into whatever torture the Empty had planned for him next, if only because it was Dean’s voice asking him to, but he couldn’t.

“I’m done playing games. I know what you are. You’re _not_ Dean.”

Not-Dean reached for Cas, Cas shrank back, and a look of horror settled over Not-Dean’s face. In a breathless whisper, he asked, “What did it do to you?”

Cas closed his eyes, waiting for that telltale chill to set in, creeping and crawling under his skin like ants. He waited and waited, but all he felt was… warm. His shoulder still burned a little, the heat coursing through his veins. This was different. No matter what the Empty did, it could never get rid of that chill. It could never make Cas feel like this.

“Dean?” he whispered.

Dean’s face broke into a smile—a _real_ smile. “Yeah. It’s me.”

Dean reached for him again. This time, Cas did not back away. He let Dean pull him to his feet, though the sudden shift made his head spin. His body, still heavy with sleep, felt like it was made of lead, but Dean didn’t seem to care. Looping his arm around Cas’s waist, he started back the way he came, murmuring some sort of incantation under his breath.

They walked for what felt like hours. Each step was harder than the last, but Cas forced himself to keep going until they reached a familiar sight: a rift between worlds. For a moment, Cas’s heart stopped, but then Dean’s hand found the small of his back and he could breathe again.

“You go first,” Dean said. “I’ll be right behind you.”

“What about the Empty?” Cas asked, glancing behind him.

“Don’t worry about it. I took care of it.”

Cas didn’t like the sound of that. “What do you mean you _took care of it_?”

“No time to explain. It won’t be gone long. Go!”

Instinctively, Cas took Dean’s hand. “Not without you.”

“Together?” Dean asked.

Cas nodded. “Together.”

Stepping through the rift, Cas felt the air rush out of his lungs. Lightheaded, he let go of Dean’s hand. A moment later, he fell and the ground rushed up to meet him, cold, hard, and unwelcoming. Next to him, Dean let out a string of pained curses, and then there were hands on Cas’s shoulders, helping him to his feet, and someone wrapped a blanket around his shoulders. In the blinding light, Cas couldn’t tell one face from another, but he knew the sound of Sam’s voice calling his name. It was at once too loud and too distant. Cas stumbled, pressing his back against the wall where the rift was only moments before. Slowly, he slid to the floor, arms covering his face. As the adrenaline drained from his body, he started to cry, sobs wracking his body until it hurt.

“Cas, hey, it’s okay.” Dean’s knees hit the floor next to him. “You’re safe.”

“I…” _I know_ , Cas wanted to say. He felt arms around him—Dean’s arms, drawing him in. Weak with exhaustion, Cas pressed his ear to Dean’s chest, listening to the sound of his heartbeat. Hard as he tried, he could not stop crying, but Dean just held him. Without self-consciousness or shame, Dean held him and told him it was all right. Everything was going to be fine. Cas was safe now.

He was home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No one is more surprised than I am about how quickly this update happened. Let me know what you think and thank you all so much for your support! I love reading your comments and I'm doing my best to reply to all of them. (If I've missed some, I'm really sorry and I'll check to make sure I get them all soon.)


	4. Chapter 4

Listening to Cas sob, Dean’s stomach twisted with guilt. He held Cas in his arms, felt the way Cas trembled, and his heart sank in despair. This—all of it—was Dean’s fault. If he had just been smarter, faster, stronger, then none of this would have happened. Cas wouldn’t have sacrificed himself. Cas wouldn’t have _suffered_ for weeks in the Empty while Dean failed again and again to save him. Cas wouldn’t have died thinking he loved someone he could never have.

“Cas,” Dean whispered. “Cas, it’s okay. You’re safe. You’re home.”

He repeated it like a prayer, holding Cas against his chest until his arms and legs went numb, both unwilling and unable to let go. Tears stung the backs of his eyes, which he should have wiped away without hesitation, the way he always did, but something stopped him. Cas stopped him. If he moved to wipe away the tears, he would have to let go of Cas, and he couldn’t do that. Not again.

Between violent bouts of sobbing, Cas gasped for breath. Dean wondered which sound was worse. Cas’s fingers dug into his back, sending sharp sparks of pain down his spine, but it didn’t matter. The last few weeks, Dean would have given anything to feel this small hurt. He would have given anything to know that Cas was alive, Cas was safe, and Cas was _here_.

“Dean,” Cas gasped, pulling back so he could look at Dean’s face, blinking against the light of the bunker. “Dean?”

“I’m here,” Dean said. “I’m right here, Cas. I’m not going anywhere.”

Cas sobbed harder, clinging to Dean with all the strength he had left. “Please, Dean, please don’t let it take me back. Please don’t let it take me back. Please don’t let it take me back.”

Dean’s heart cracked in his chest, filling him with cold dread. “I won’t,” he promised. “I won’t.”

Gradually, Cas stopped crying, his body shaking with exhaustion. Dean heard his own voice distantly as he told Cas that everything would be all right. It felt like lying. Dean was a hunter. Hunters’ lives were seldom comfortable, peaceful, or secure. At the same time, as long as Dean could hold Cas in his arms, it felt like the truth. Or _a_ truth.

Sometime before Cas stopped crying, Sam and Eileen left to look for necessities like more blankets, four cups of hot tea, and first aid supplies. Dean figured it was their way of giving him and Cas some space. When they came back, they seemed calmer, more collected than before.

Sam cleared his throat. “Is he… Cas, are you hurt?”

Cas looked up, eyes hazy. “I… I don’t know.”

“Right. That’s all right.” Sam set the first aid kit on the table and opened it. “Does anything… you know… hurt?”

Cas frowned slightly. “Shoulder.”

“Shoulder. Great. Which shoulder?”

“Left.”

“Any blood?”

“I don’t know,” Cas said again. Then, after a pause, “No.”

“Are you sure?”

“No.”

Dean stood up, muscles protesting, and helped Cas to his feet. “There we go. Lose the coat.”

Swaying slightly, Cas took off his coat and laid it over the back of a chair. At first glance, Cas’s white shirt was pristine. No blood, no dirt, not even a loose thread.

“All right, lose the shirt.”

Cas struggled with the buttons, but eventually managed to unfasten them all, carefully laying the shirt over his coat on the chair. Dean saw his eyes widen.

But it was Eileen who spoke first, louder than she meant to, her voice thick with shock. “Holy shit. What _is_ that?”

Some part of Dean already knew what he would see when he examined Cas’s skin. The moment he made contact with Cas in the Empty, Dean had felt a jolt of electric heat run through his hand and up his arm. That electricity still hummed beneath his skin.

Even so, Dean’s heart stopped when he saw the mark on Cas’s shoulder: raised welts in the shape of a handprint, just like the one Dean used to have. _I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition_ , he thought, a hysterical laugh rising in his chest. He felt sick, dizzy, like he might pass out or throw up or break down in tears if he didn’t look away. So he looked away, if only for a moment, and waited for the room to stop spinning.

“Cas,” he said, forcing himself to look into Cas’s wide, blue eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Cas cocked his head, eyes narrowing in confusion. “Why? I’m not. I find it…” He paused; Dean could see the gears turning in his head. “Poetic.”

Dean felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. He dug around in the first aid kit, producing a tube of burn ointment, which he applied to Cas’s arm. He wasn’t even sure it was the right thing for it, but it was better than an ice pack and a Band-Aid.

“Better?” he asked.

Cas thought about it, then nodded. “Yes. Thank you. _All_ of you.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Eileen turn to Sam, who interpreted what Cas had said, albeit clumsily. It was impossible to miss the adoration in their eyes as they smiled at one another, subconsciously moving to stand closer together.

“How are you feeling?” Sam asked as Dean sat Castiel down in a chair and handed him a cup of tea.

Cas took a sip of his tea. “Better,” he said, though he sounded unsure. “Thank you.”

Once he was sure Cas was going to be okay, Dean turned to go. He didn’t know why he did it now, but something in him told him to run and hide, get out before someone saw the way he looked at Cas. Those were old instincts. He was safe here, he reminded himself. Among family. He didn’t have to run anymore. He didn’t have to hide.

After a while, Sam shot Dean a meaningful look, raising his eyebrows as if to ask, _Am I in the way here?_ Dean felt like an ass for it, but he gave Sam a subtle nod. Seconds later, Sam got up from the table, looking at his watch with a dumbfounded expression.

“Wow. Time really flies. You know, it’s getting late. I think I’m going to call it a night. Eileen?”

Dean wasn’t stupid enough to think Eileen didn’t know what was going on. She was smart, observant, and sometimes frighteningly detail-oriented, so it was no surprise that the smile she cast Dean as she said goodnight had a touch of mischief in it.

“Goodnight,” Cas said. “Eileen, it was lovely seeing you again.”

Eileen made a Y with her right hand and moved it back and forth in front of her. “You, too.”

When they were gone, Cas turned to Dean and asked, “Are you going to sleep, too?”

Dean shook his head. “No. Not yet. You?”

Cas’s eyebrow twitched in amusement. “I don’t sleep.”

“Right.” Dean looked into his empty teacup as if it held the answer to all his questions. “There’s something I want to talk to you about, actually.”

The air between them grew tense. Cas sat up a little straighter, glancing nervously around the room, focusing on everything and nothing. He said, “Of course, Dean. Anything.”

 _This isn’t happening_ , Dean thought. He blinked slowly, leaving his eyes closed for a moment too long, and tried to keep his breathing even.

“Dean?” Cas sounded worried.

“I’m fine,” Dean lied. “Cas, what you said to me. Was it… I mean, do you still…?”

“Was it… what?”

Panic twisted Dean’s ribs, pulling them tight until he could barely breathe. Less than an arm’s length away, Cas sat still and quiet, his eyes full of concern. They were still the bluest eyes Dean had ever seen, so deep that it was impossible to look into them without falling, without getting lost. Strange as it was, Cas seemed older now than he had that first night. His face was softer now. Kinder. The night they met, Cas had been little more than a soldier: harsh, cold, and sharp as a knife. He had been radiant then, but now?

There were no words for what he was now. He was more than radiant, more than beautiful, more than angel or human… He was _Cas_.

“Did you mean it when you said you loved me?” Dean’s voice came out a whisper.

Cas looked away. “I did.”

“Do you still…” Dean took a breath and held it until his lungs burned. “Cas, do you still love me?”

This time, Cas met Dean’s gaze. “I do.”

The room started spinning again. Dean gripped the edge of the table until his knuckles turned white. He opened his mouth to speak, but Cas beat him to it.

“Dean, I have no regrets about what I said to you _or_ about what followed. I chose to summon the Empty, to let it take me, and I would do it again in a heartbeat if I had to.”

“But you said…” _Please don’t let it take me back_ , echoed in Dean’s mind.

“I know,” Cas said, his voice tight and strained. “I was in a bad state. That isn’t the point here, Dean. The point is, I meant every word of what I said and I… I understand that my feelings are mine. I know that—”

“The one thing you want is something you can’t have,” Dean guessed.

“Yes.”

“Cas, you’re my best friend…”

“I know. That doesn’t have to change.”

“No, it doesn’t.” Dean didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “You’re my best friend, but you’re the biggest fucking idiot I’ve ever met. You know that?”

The look on Cas’s face was almost comical. “Excuse me?”

“Cas—”

“Why do you keep saying my name like that? Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“I understand.”

“You do?”

“Yes. Your excessive use of my name suggests that I have made you uncomfortable.”

Dean couldn’t tell if Cas was joking. Erring on the side of caution, he said, “No, Cas. You haven’t. I…” The words caught in his throat. “I have to tell you, Cas, I…”

“Dean, are you all right?”

Dean tried to speak again, heart hammering against his ribs. He felt hot and cold all at once, but it was now or never. After everything they’d been through together, Cas deserved to know the truth.

So with every instinct screaming at him to run, Dean reached for Cas’s hand. He couldn’t let go of it all, not in one try, but he managed to let go of enough fear and shame to say something he should have said a long, long time ago:

“I love you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was extremely nervous about posting this chapter. Part of me still is, but I figured I'd better do it now before I get cold feet again. I hope you enjoyed it and I'd love to know what you think!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Mentions of John Winchester's bad parenting, Dean's alcohol problem, and Dean's self loathing. There's also a bit of swearing and a hell of a lot of Dean and Cas being adorable and in love.

For the longest minute of Dean’s life, neither he nor Cas said another word. Those three words, _I love you_ , hung in the air like fog over a cemetery. Dean had spent enough time in those to know the chill that crept in, a bone-deep sense that things were about to change. Things had _already_ changed. Irreversibly.

To start with, there was the mark on Cas’s shoulder. _I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition_ , echoed again and again in the back of Dean’s mind. He’d had a mark like that once, welts in the shape of a hand. _Castiel’s_ hand. It had burned a little at first, a dull, throbbing pain that came in waves. The memory filled Dean’s mouth with the bitter taste of guilt. Breathing through his teeth, Dean forced himself to look away.

Cas must have noticed, because he glanced at the mark on his arm before carefully, deliberately retrieving his shirt and putting it back on. His fingers still shook, but he managed to fasten a few of the buttons before giving up and asking, “Does this make you more comfortable?”

Dean’s face felt hot. “You didn’t have to. I mean, if it hurts, you probably shouldn’t put anything over it.”

“It did, but it’s better now.” Cas hesitated, choosing his next words carefully. “Dean, I think we should talk.”

Dean’s stomach dropped into his shoes. “Guess so. Yeah.”

“Is something wrong?”

“No.”

“Dean…” Cas reached out, squeezing Dean’s hand gently. “You risked everything to save me, just as I would risk everything to save you. We’ve faced monsters, demons, angels, archangels—We’ve even faced _God_ and managed to pull through. There is nothing in this world that you could say to me that would make me love you any less. So what is it? What’s bothering you?”

It was difficult to find the words, but Dean did the best he could. He didn’t know where to start, so he started at the very beginning and told Cas everything. As much as he could, he explained the shame that had hounded him for decades, the nagging thought that he wasn’t supposed to feel the things he felt and, worse still, the thought that he would have to spend his entire life guarding this secret. For a while, that had been okay. Dean was younger then, uninterested in things like settling down and starting a life with someone. Things were simpler when he didn’t have to worry about attachments, commitments, or the danger of falling in love.

“What changed?” Cas asked.

Dean swallowed hard, but the lump in his throat would not budge. “You.”

Cas inhaled sharply, color rising to his cheeks. “Me?”

“Yes, Cas, _you_.” Dean laughed. He felt weightless all of a sudden, giddy with exhilaration. “You changed me.”

The effect those words had on Cas was immediate: His spine went rigid, his breathing sped up, and his eyes locked on Dean’s. _Those eyes…_ Dean thought. They were dark and dizzying, more pupil than iris, and Dean knew it would be easy to lose himself in them. He _wanted_ to lose himself in them.

“When you—” Cas’s voice cracked, making both of them laugh. “The night before we summoned Raphael… That’s when I knew. The way you laughed in that alley, so unguarded and exuberant, was the most beautiful thing I had ever witnessed. I think… I think I’d been falling for longer—much, much longer—but that was when I looked up and realized I was on the ground.”

Dean’s heart skipped a beat. He fought to keep his voice from shaking as he said, “I remember that. God, you were such a dork.”

“Why?” A playful smile spread across Cas’s face. “Because I ruined your evening?”

“No, you _made_ my evening.” Dean patted Cas’s uninjured shoulder. “Man, I hadn’t laughed like that in… forever.”

“I know.”

“Wait. Did you do it on _purpose_?”

Blushing, Cas turned his gaze toward the floor. That was all the answer Dean needed. For the briefest moment, he was there again, standing in that alley with his arm around Cas’s shoulder, laughing until his sides hurt. By then, Dean had already fallen. He only wished he had realized sooner.

“So…” Cas said at last. “What happens next?”

“I don’t know,” Dean admitted. “This is kind of new territory for me. I’ve been… I’ve had relationships before, but they all… I mean, I could never…”

Cas leaned forward, reaching for Dean’s hand. “I understand.”

“You do?”

“Yes.” Cas’s fingers tightened around Dean’s. “I’ve seen what hunting does to you. I saw it from the very beginning, Dean. You hunt and you fight and you kill, then you pack your bags, drive to the next town, hunt, fight, and kill. No room for attachments. Commitments. _Weaknesses_. To love is to open yourself to unimaginable pain and loss, so it’s better not to love at all. Is that right so far?”

Face hot, Dean nodded.

“But there’s more. There’s _you_. You never believed you were worthy of being loved. You never saw yourself for who you truly are, because if you had, you’d see how brightly you burn. You see yourself in the mirror and all you see is darkness, anger, and pain. But the light within you is blinding. When I look at you, I don’t see the dark. I don’t see the anger and pain. I see _you_. And I love you.”

Until a tear struck their clasped hands, Dean hadn’t realized he was crying. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe, but it seemed impossible with Cas’s eyes on him, full of love and certainty. Cas’s hands moved to rest on either side of Dean’s face, thumbs gently stroking his cheekbones. One of them had to move first, but it didn’t make a difference in the end. One way or another, they kissed.

Dean didn’t know what to expect from kissing Cas, but he knew it wasn’t this. Cas’s lips were pliant, warm, and unbelievably soft. When he kissed Dean, he did so reverently, with his eyes closed. One hand moved to the back of Dean’s neck, holding him like he was the most precious thing in the entire world. A few times, their foreheads or noses bumped together painfully, making them both laugh. Dean would have given anything to keep Cas laughing like that.

They broke apart. Absentmindedly, Cas brushed his fingertips against his lower lip. “That was…”

“I know,” Dean said with as much arrogance as he could muster. Cas pulled him in for another kiss, quick, sweet, and—much as Dean hated to use the word—chaste.

“You’re tired.” It wasn’t a question and Dean didn’t feel inclined to argue when Cas took him by the hand and led him toward his own room. The part of Dean that wasn’t tired wanted to make a tasteless joke, but the more he thought about it, the harder the exhaustion hit him. By the time they got to his door, he wasn’t sure which one of them was leaning on the other for support.

“Wait,” Dean said as the door clicked shut behind them. “You don’t sleep.”

Cas kissed his cheek. “No, but you do. I’ll watch over you.”

“I can stay up. It’s not like I haven’t done an all-nighter before.” Even as he said it, Dean knew he couldn’t keep his eyes open for more than another ten minutes. “I don’t want to leave you alone.”

Cas’s eyes filled with amusement. “I’m not alone,” he promised. “I’m with you.”

Too tired to argue, Dean kicked off his shoes, put on his pajamas, and climbed into bed. As he burrowed under the covers, he patted the space next to him and said, “Come here.”

Cas blinked, the very definition of confusion. “I don’t sleep.”

“Yeah, well, I do and I’ll sleep better knowing you’re here.”

Tentatively, almost timidly, Cas took off his shoes, placed them next to the door, and lay down next to Dean. It was strange at first, strange enough to send a shiver of panic down Dean’s spine. What was he doing? This was Cas. This was Cas, an angel of the Lord, and he was Dean, a high school dropout with anger management issues and a drinking problem. What was he thinking? But instead of running, Dean rested his ear against Cas’s chest, careful of the handprint on his shoulder, listened to the steady beating of his heart, and let Cas's fingers comb through his hair until, for the first time in weeks, he fell into a deep, peaceful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I'd love to know what you think and what you want to see in the future of this fic. I'm having a lot of fun so far and I hope you are, too.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a hard chapter to write, but I'm happy with it. Enjoy!

When Eileen woke up, Sam’s side of the bed was empty. She reached out, running her fingers over the pillows and sheets, but they were cold. It was still early enough that her alarm hadn’t gone off, so she rolled onto her side, closed her eyes, and let her mind drift. With nothing in particular to think about, she thought about everything. The circumstances and coincidences that brought her here seemed impossible. Most people didn’t even _believe_ in ghosts and monsters, let alone angels, demons, Heaven, and Hell. The people who did believe in monsters had usually never seen a real one.

Twenty minutes after she woke up, Eileen felt the watch on her wrist start to shake. She sat up, stretched, and got out of bed, turning on the lights on her way to the closet. After so many years of the lonely, transient lifestyle that came with hunting, Eileen had to admit that sharing a closet took some getting used to. But the two of them managed well enough, and if Eileen “accidentally” borrowed one of Sam’s flannel shirts, it was hardly the end of the world.

In the shower, Eileen closed her eyes, tilted her head back, and let the warm water fall like raindrops against her skin. These were the things she’d missed in Hell: little human comforts that seemed so insignificant and unimportant until they were gone. Eileen had a second chance now; she wasn’t going to waste a moment of it. So, among other things, she memorized every detail of every morning, no matter how mundane.

The lights turned off and on twice just as Eileen finished buttoning the last button on her shirt—or, rather, one of Sam’s shirts, which she was borrowing. She knew it was Sam because Sam was the only one who used the light switches to let her know he’d entered the room when her back was turned to the door. A moment later, she felt his hands brush against her neck as he swept her hair out from under the collar of her shirt. He kissed her cheek.

Turning to face him, Eileen said, _“Hey, Sam.”_

Sam gave her the biggest, sweetest smile she had ever seen. _“Hey.”_

 _“How’s Cas?”_ Eileen asked.

Sam shrugged stiffly. _“No idea. Haven’t seen him. Breakfast?”_

Never one to turn down breakfast, Eileen looped her arm through Sam’s and said, “Breakfast sounds great.”

There was a lull in the conversation as they walked to the kitchen. Eileen leaned her head against Sam’s shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of lavender and fabric softener that clung to his skin, hair, and clothing. When they tripped over each other’s feet, she felt him shake with laughter, and everything seemed… perfect.

“Hey, Dean,” Eileen said as she and Sam entered the kitchen.

Dean looked up from the coffee machine. “Hey, Eileen.”

“How’s Cas?” Sam asked, positioning himself so that Eileen could see him as well as Dean.

Dean’s eyes darted between the ground, Sam’s face, Eileen’s face, the ceiling, and the doorway. He ducked his head, blushing a brilliant shade of crimson. If there was anything Eileen knew, it was body language, and Dean’s body language said he was flustered. What was it Sam had told her about Castiel? He was an angel of the Lord, the very one that had stolen Dean’s soul from the depths of Hell. He had been different then, stony and inhuman. Somewhere down the line, thought, things had changed. _Cas_ had changed. He had become kinder, softer, more like the humans he was meant to watch impartially. He had grown attached to them. Sam didn’t need to tell her that there was more to the story, feelings that ran deeper than friendship. It was plain as day now.

It was also none of Eileen’s business. Not until Dean wanted to be, at least.

“Have you had breakfast?” Eileen asked. Relief crossed Dean’s face; his shoulders deflated.

“No, I haven’t. You?”

Eileen shook her head. “Not yet, but we’ve got a plan.”

Sam raised his eyebrow. “We do?”

“Yeah. Make breakfast, eat breakfast—that sort of plan.”

The way Sam’s eyes crinkled as he laughed made Eileen’s heart do little skips and jumps of delight. A year and a half ago, it would have frightened her to feel this happy. A year and a half ago, she might have run away. But that was then and this was now. Running was not an option anymore. Instead, Eileen pulled Sam closer by the collar of his shirt, stood on her toes, and kissed him.

When they separated, she asked, _“Are pancakes good?”_

Sam made a show of thinking about it before he said, _“Pancakes are great. Blueberry?”_

_“Obviously.”_

After breakfast, Dean went to check on Cas, and Sam asked Eileen to go with him on a walk. It wasn’t an unusual request, but he looked pale and sick with nerves. Eileen took his hand as they walked; it was cold and clammy, an observation she kept to herself. She distracted herself by breathing in the crisp, fresh air, tasting spring on her tongue, watching the sunlight as it danced through the leaves, and enjoying the gentle breeze that tossed her hair. It was a beautiful day, the kind that Eileen had spent her nights in Hell dreaming about. She had been there for what felt like centuries, lost, alone, and terrified. And now she was here, walking in the sunlight with Sam by her side, safe, loved, and happy. She was so happy, it hurt sometimes, an ache in her ribs that fled as soon as she remembered she didn’t have to go through it alone. She had Sam and he had her. As long as that was true, everything would be all right.

Sam slowed to a stop. _“Here,”_ he said. They set up the blankets and lay down, hand in hand, staring up at the sky. Clouds drifted past, a thousand shapes and sizes, and they took turns pointing out images.

 _“Dean,”_ Eileen said, pointing up at the cloud in question. _“Or maybe a squirrel.”_

Sam laughed. _“Don’t let him catch you saying that.”_

_“Am I wrong?”_

_“No.”_ Sam smiled at her. _“It_ does _look like a Dean-Squirrel.”_

For a while, they lay still. Then Sam sat up, urging Eileen to sit up with him. He took a deep breath, wrung his hands, and rubbed them against his knees. The intensity in his eyes when he looked at Eileen made her heart beat faster.

 _“What is it?”_ she asked. _“Is something wrong?”_

Sam shook his head, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his lips. _“Nothing’s wrong,”_ he assured her. _“Nothing at all. It’s just… with everything that’s happened… everything we lost and everything we got back, I’ve been thinking.”_

Eileen wanted to respond, but her hands were frozen and her voice caught in her throat. Despite the warmth of the sun, she shivered.

 _“When I thought I’d never see you again, that a second chance was all we had and I’d let it slip through my fingers, I couldn’t stop thinking about one thing I never got to say. I’d been planning on it, but I guess I was too scared. I guess I got too comfortable with the idea that we would have tomorrow and I could say it all then. But now… now I_ know _we have tomorrow and everything after that. And that’s what I want. Forever. With you.”_

A tear rolled down Eileen’s cheek, then another and another. She wiped them away with shaking hands. _“What are you saying?”_

 _“Marry me,”_ Sam said. The sincerity in his eyes mad Eileen’s heart squeeze. He reached into his pocket and took out a ring. _“My mom gave this to me before she died. What I regretted most was that I was too much of a coward to give it to you.”_

Eileen thought she could keep it together. She thought she could play it cool, but then Sam started crying in earnest, shoulders shaking with stifled sobs, and she gave up on composure completely. _There’s no shame in crying_ , she told herself. Happy tears were still so new.

 _“Eileen?”_ Sam asked. She saw him swallow hard. _“Can I… Do you want this?”_

Eileen nodded, offering Sam her hand. _“Of course. Yes.”_

Sam slid the ring onto her finger. It was beautiful—a moonstone and two sapphires on a delicately braided band. Eileen had no idea what those stones were supposed to represent, but she knew what they meant to her. They were a promise, one that she very much intended to keep.

 _“You’re shaking,”_ Sam said. He looked almost awestruck.

_“So are you.”_

_“Yeah. That went well. Did it go well?”_

Eileen leaned forward, pulling Sam into a long, leisurely kiss. Under her thumbs, his face was wet with tears, but his arms were strong and steady around her waist.

“It went very well,” she told him, hands still on either side of his face. “I love you.”

Sam let go of her for just long enough to say, _“I love you, too.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I'd be delighted to know what you all think!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Panic/panic attacks, fear of the dark, and some language.

At night, Cas felt the dark closing in. It started as a chill that trickled down his spine, spread through his veins, and prickled under his skin. His breath froze in his lungs, filling his whole body with cold. It hurt, too, so badly that Cas thought he might cry out. He tightened his jaw, curled his hands into fists, and dug his fingernails into his palms. Helpless with fear, he stayed as still and quiet as he could and prayed that the Shadow could not find him here.

Within seconds, Dean was at his side, murmuring, “Cas, are you all right?”

“I…” Cas could barely force his voice to work. His body felt wrong, like it didn’t quite fit anymore. “Dean?”

“I’m right here, okay? I’m right here.” Dean’s hands traveled over Cas’s back, grounding him, bringing him back to himself. He turned, pressing his face close to Dean’s neck, and tried to calm down. Despite the heat of Dean’s skin, Cas shivered with cold. Angels weren’t supposed to get cold.

Distantly, Cas heard himself say Dean’s name, but his voice sounded alien to him. More than anything, he wanted to stop crying. He wanted to sink into Dean’s arms, close his eyes, and sleep, except he couldn’t. Angels didn’t sleep. Even Cas, weak as he was, did not sleep. He wasn’t sure he _could_ sleep, even if he tried. Most of the time, that was all right. Most of the time, Cas was perfectly content to lie next to Dean in the dark. In his sleep, Dean smiled a soft, painless smile that Cas never saw when he was awake. He was always beautiful, but in his sleep, he was _peaceful_.

Now Dean looked worried, with furrowed brows and lips pressed into a tight, harsh line. Still, his voice was soft as he said, “Come back to me, Cas.”

Cas wanted nothing more than to come back, but he was so afraid, so lost. He tried to call out, but his voice died in his throat. The air was too thick to breathe.

“Cas,” Dean said. His tone was louder, more insistent, and somehow still gentle. One hand settled against Cas’s cheek, the other against the scar on Cas’s shoulder. It didn’t hurt anymore, but Cas felt a shock run through his arm. Almost instantly, the fear and panic began to subside, leaving Cas trembling and exhausted in Dean’s dark room. When Dean reached

“Dean…” he whispered. “Did I… Did I break anything this time?”

“I don’t know.” Dean leaned over and tried to turn on the lamp on his bedside table. “I think you killed the lights.”

“Oh… I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about, Cas. It happens.” Dean got up, crossed the room, and tried another light switch. Nothing happened.

“Still, I didn’t mean—”

“You panicked,” Dean said. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve done it. I just don’t have the juice to knock out the lights.”

Cas nodded, guilt still gnawing at his insides. Now that it was over, he felt foolish, but when he looked at Dean, he saw eyes full of love and concern, not judgement. As beautiful as Cas thought Dean was, it was intoxicating to know that Dean thought the same of him.

“I feel better now,” Cas said, resting his ear against Dean’s chest. “Thank you.”

Angels didn’t sleep, but Cas did his best to stay still and quiet so Dean could get a few more hours. There weren’t very many of those left until morning, anyway. Cas could wait. He felt strangely calm now, both weightless and leaden as Dean’s fingers combed through his hair. Safe, warm, and content, he closed his eyes and pretended he could fall asleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter this time, but the next one will be longer. As always, I'd love to know what you all think!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! I've been pretty stressed lately, not to mention the fact that I deleted and rewrote it a million and one times before finally settling on a version I liked. Hopefully you all like it, too!

Jack came to visit on Dean’s forty-second birthday. As far as he could tell, the outside of the bunker was virtually unchanged. Jack knew it wasn’t where he belonged, not anymore, but he couldn’t help the whisper in the back of his mind that said, _This is home._ He approached the door slowly, stopping to touch each tree and bush and flower, savoring the memories they brought him. They were all so lovely, so… perfect. And now Jack understood them. He knew them as well as he knew himself—maybe even better.

Knocking was an art, or so Dean always said. Three sharp knocks did the trick for most situations, though if Jack wanted to, he could get fancy and knock the rhythm of a song. Something the other person would understand, like a secret code. Jack didn’t do that today. Today he settled on a classic three-knock pattern and waited for someone to come answer the door.

The look on Sam’s face made the wait worth it. His eyes flew wide, his mouth fell open, and then he surged forward and pulled Jack into a crushing hug.

Face buried in Sam’s shoulder, Jack said, “I missed you guys. I would’ve come sooner, but there were so many things I had to do first and I couldn’t get away. I missed you guys so much.”

Sam squeezed him tighter. “Hey, no, it’s okay! We missed you, too, buddy. How have you been?”

That was a difficult question to answer. He’d been… different. With so much new power and knowledge, he felt like a stranger to himself He felt older, wiser, and far lonelier than ever before.

Lost for words, he just said, “I’ve been well.”

“That’s great!”

A thought occurred to Jack, one that sent chills down his spine. “Why did you turn down that case?”

“Which case?” Sam asked.

“Masked vampires.” Deep down, Jack knew he shouldn’t say anything. He knew it was an abuse of power, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to care. He needed to know.

“I don’t know,” Sam admitted. “It just didn’t feel important, not with everything else we were dealing with. “We put someone else on it, though. Why? Should we have taken it?”

“No!” Jack cried, perhaps a little too quickly. “I was just curious. Besides, I hear rebar hurts like a b—”

“Jack!” Sam sounded scandalized. “Where did you learn that word?”

Jack furrowed his brow. Even with all his power and knowledge, he still didn’t quite understand the way humans worked. He especially didn’t understand their aversion to certain words. “Did I say something wrong?”

Sam shrugged. “No. You surprised me a little. That’s all.”

“Oh. I understand,” Jack said, though he most certainly did _not_.

Inside, the bunker was almost exactly the way Jack had left it. The only big difference was that Eileen lived here full time now, rather than visiting for a day or two every week. Or every other week. Whenever she left, Sam had given Jack some halfhearted speech about how lonely hunters’ lives were and how lucky he was that he could see Eileen more than once or twice a month. Jack had never believed him.

“Hello, Eileen,” Jack said, waving. Eileen waved back, her face breaking into a warm smile.

“Hey!” she said. “Are you here for Dean’s birthday?”

Jack nodded.

“He’ll be so glad to see you. _I’m_ so glad to see you.” Eileen stood up and held out her arms, silently asking Jack if he wanted a hug. Never one to turn down a hug, Jack accepted it gratefully.

Stepping back so Eileen could read his lips, Jack asked, “Is Castiel here?” He did his best to sign the question as he asked it.

“Haven’t seen him yet. I think he and Dean are still in their room.”

_Their room_. Jack knew about Dean and Cas. He’d known about it from the start, long before he was God. He had seen the looks they gave each other, furtive glances stolen in quiet moments when they thought no one else could see. He’d heard the way Cas spoke about Dean, lingering on his better qualities: his kindness, his strength, his resilience, his intelligence, and even his beautiful, green eyes. That was how Cas had always described them, at least. Beautiful, emerald green, and shining like stars. There was no universe in which Jack wouldn’t have known, but he’d never been brave enough to say anything. Maybe it was better that way.

A voice behind him said, “Jack?”

Jack knew that voice. “Cas!” he cried, running to give Cas a tight hug.

For all his power and knowledge, Jack still felt like a child. He still felt like _Cas’s_ child, Cas’s son, and nothing in the world could ever change that. The longer Cas held him, the safer Jack felt. He wanted to stay there forever, but sooner or later, he knew he had to let go.

“Jack,” Cas murmured, taking Jack’s face in his hands. “I’m so proud of you.”

Tears welled up in Jack’s eyes. All he could do was nod.

“I wish I could have been there when you needed me.”

Jack swallowed the lump in his throat and said, “You were.”

They hugged again. Jack buried his face in Cas’s shoulder, trying to slow his breathing and stop himself from crying. It was a little too late for that, he supposed. Cas held him tightly, patting his back and stroking his hair, whispering things that Jack remembered his own mother whispering to him before he was born. It only took moments for Jack to give up and let himself cry, sobs shaking his entire body, tearing the breath from his lungs, leaving him weak and helpless. He was so happy, it hurt. What hurt worst of all, however, was knowing he couldn’t stay as long as he wanted to.

The sound of Dean clearing his throat made both Cas and Jack jump. Cas fixed Dean with a fond-yet-disapproving glare while Jack wiped his eyes and tried to regain composure.

“You got a hug for the birthday boy or what?”

“Dean!” Jack gave him a hug, too. This time, though, he didn’t cry. He was all out of tears.

“I missed you, kid.”

Jack laughed hoarsely. “Everyone did. I missed you guys, too.”

Dean squeezed Jack’s shoulder, then turned to Sam and Eileen. “Is there cake?”

There was, in fact, cake. There was pie, too. At six in the evening, Sam ushered everyone to the table, which he and Eileen had set with an assortment of Dean’s favorite foods. Everyone’s plates had shiny party hats resting in the middle and there was confetti everywhere. In the back of his mind, Jack couldn’t help but wonder who was going to be stuck cleaning all of that up. From Dean’s inquisitive stare, he was wondering the same thing.

When they were all seated, Dean asked, “You hungry, Jack?”

It was a difficult question to answer. Jack didn’t need to eat anymore, but he didn’t know whether his sense of taste was gone or not. It didn’t hurt to try.

“Sure,” he said.

As it turned out, Jack had not lost his sense of taste. _Thank goodness_ , he thought. Next to him, he noticed that Cas, as usual, wasn’t eating. Jack wondered what it would be like to taste every single molecule in every bite of food. According to Cas, it was disgusting.

“How’s it going up in Heaven?” Dean asked.

Jack shrugged, taking a sip of his soda. “It’s all right, I guess. Quieter now.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Is your mom there?”

Sam elbowed Dean hard in the ribs. “Dude!”

“What? I’m just curious!”

Jack shook his head, fighting back a smile. “I don’t mind. Yes, she is. I see her as often as I can, but it’s difficult to…”

Cas’s hand came to rest on Jack’s forearm, squeezing gently. “It’s understandable. Take your time.”

“I am,” Jack promised. “Besides, it’s not like I don’t have a family. I have more dads than most, an awesome uncle, and now an aunt. Who knows? Maybe I’ll even have cousins one day.”

Sam and Eileen exchanged amused glances. With awkward, jerky movements, Dean stood up quickly and asked, “Who’s up for cake?”

After dessert, Dean and Cas asked to speak with Jack one-on-one. Two-on-one, technically. They seemed nervous, excited, and maybe even a little scared.

“So…” Dean started. Then, after a long pause, he turned to Cas. “You wanna take this one?”

Cas smiled, shaking his head in disbelief. “Dean… You said you wanted to tell him.”

Dean shoved his hands in his pockets, then thought better of it and crossed his arms. “Right. Uh… Jack… You mean the freakin’ world to me and Cas. You know that?”

Jack tried not to look smug. “I had some idea. Yes.”

“You said we’re your dads and we are. There ain’t a damn thing in the universe that can change that.”

“I know.”

“Good. That’s good. It’s just, we don’t know how much you know already, but we figure we owe it to you to tell you ourselves. Me and Cas, we’ve been seeing each other.”

“Is that a metaphor?” Jack asked.

Cas did a terrible job of hiding a laugh behind his hands. “No, Jack. We’ve been…”

“We’ve been in a relationship,” Dean finished. “Like Sam and Eileen.”

“Really?” Jack widened his eyes and tried to sound surprised, but even he didn’t think he sounded convincing enough. Dean and Cas certainly didn’t, though they did their best to play along.

“Crazy, huh? And it only took us eleven years.”

“Yeah. Crazy. I… I can’t believe it.”

Dean looked at Cas as if to say, _Are you hearing this crap?_

“It’s amazing,” Jack continued. “I’m so happy for you. Really. I can’t—”

Dean’s eyebrow twitched. “How long have you known?”

Face hot, Jack shrugged and said, “Only since this afternoon. Sam said you guys were in your room. Singular. I know I’m technically three years old, but I wasn’t born yesterday.”

Dean reached out to ruffle Jack’s hair; Jack let him do it. He couldn’t stay, but he could pretend to be a normal kid until he had to go back to Heaven and his new job. He could spend time with his dads and Sam and Eileen, watch bad cowboy movies, and listen to Dean talk about all the little historical details they got wrong while Cas pretended to pay attention, Sam begged him to shut up, and Eileen kept her eyes fixed on the screen, blissfully and willfully unaware of the commotion.

In his old bedroom, Jack lay down and stared up at the ceiling. He had to leave tomorrow, but it didn’t matter now. In this moment, as long as he was here, Jack was home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I'd love to know what you think! The next chapter will be more serious, but I wanted to write something cute and sappy to celebrate Dean's birthday (albeit belatedly).


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